


All I Want For Christmas Is You

by JBankai89



Series: The Twelve Days of Smutmas [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Christmas, Christmas Themes, Godcest, Godfather Godson Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly Epilogue Compliant, Pining, PostWar, Sirius Lives, Voyeurism Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8858209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Harry thought that living with his godfather would be wonderful. He finally had a home and a chance to rebuild their relationship as godfather and godson. Unfortunately for Harry, things do not go entirely as planned when he begins to notice Sirius in a way that goes well beyond platonic love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Story #2 in my Twelve Days of Smutmas series! As previously stated, these fics do not need to be read in order, all of 'em are standalone stories. I hope you guys enjoy this one, it's my first attempt at Sirry in any form so I hope I did the ship justice :)

Special thanks to Faladrast for the awesome graphic! Check them out on [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/Faladrast-118654891940425/?fref=ts) or at [**http://faladrast.weebly.com/**](http://faladrast.weebly.com/)

 

* * *

 

All I Want For Christmas Is You

 

Harry sat at the table, his gaze focused resolutely upon his breakfast of slightly charred eggs and bacon. He couldn't look up; he _wouldn't_. Harry's deviant subconscious had been in full swing the night before, and it would not do to have the subject of his dreams see him turn bright red for no apparent reason.

“Harry? Are you all right?”

Harry looked up at his godfather, and cursed his inability to hide his feelings better. The instant Sirius's eyes met his, flashes of his dreams from the night before invaded his mind.

 _Sirius naked and pinning Harry to the breakfast table, leaving purple love-bites upon his throat and upper chest, Harry's fingers tangling in those long, wavy locks..._ Harry shook his head violently and looked back down at the food in front of him when he felt his face grow warm.

“F-fine,” Harry mumbled, and hid his face behind his coffee cup to avoid any more questions.

 

It had been a slow progression, and despite Harry's best efforts, his feelings for Sirius Black had evolved past a platonic, familial affection into something _wrong_. Sexual desire for a man not only twice his age, but also in the role of father figure made it even worse, and every time Harry was struck by these desires, or caught himself staring longingly at the older man, he'd mentally flog and punish himself for even entertaining such wild fantasies.

Sirius was his godfather. It would be inappropriate for him to be anything but.

Harry wished that that was enough to stifle his longing.

“Are you sure?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowing with confusion. “You don't look well, are you coming down with something?” His rough hand reached out to brush across Harry's forehead as he checked for a temperature, and the skin-on-skin contact tripled Harry's heart rate in an instant. He lurched back from his godfather's touch so sharply that his chair wobbled.

“I'm fine,” Harry said with a flustered huff, “I'm not ill.”

Sirius appeared alarmed by Harry's reaction, and his hand fell away. He picked up his own coffee cup, but he did not drop his suspicious gaze from his godson.

“If you say so,” Sirius said, “but you're acting very...odd this morning.”

Harry offered up a noncommittal grunt, but didn't answer.

 

~*~

 

Harry purged his mind of thoughts of Sirius during his morning shower, and mumbled something about heading out to Diagon Alley as he bolted out of the door before Sirius could say two words. Harry didn't actually _need_ to go to Diagon Alley, having completed his Christmas shopping the week before, but hanging around Grimmauld Place was out of the question until he could get a handle on his attraction to the older man—or at least get better at hiding it.

Harry crammed his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked down the street, but halfway towards the closest Apparition point he changed his mind, and made for muggle London instead. Perhaps a good wander through the streets would help to clear his mind.

 

Following the war, and the funerals, Harry found himself more or less homeless, given that he couldn't return to Privet Drive (not that he'd want to) and he felt decidedly odd about Mrs Weasley's offer of moving in with them. Hermione had made for Australia to try and find her parents almost immediately following everything, and in the two years since, he hadn't heard from her, save for the occasional postcard, delivered not by owl, but by albatross.

When Harry had begun to voice that he was looking for a flat, Sirius stepped in at once and offered him a room at Grimmauld Place. At the time, Kingsley was still working to have him exonerated, and Harry supposed that Sirius could use the company, especially after losing Remus in the final battle.

In the beginning, it had been wonderful. Harry had a family at last, and he thought that it was great fun helping Sirius 'remodel' his childhood home, which involved less home renovation charms, and more explosions. Harry had never seen the man happier than when he set his mother's portrait on fire, and watched her shriek with fury as the painting curled into ash.

Kreacher nearly had a heart attack when he witnessed Sirius more or less murder his Mistress, and Harry was quick to suggest that Sirius send him to Hogwarts, if nothing else to save his godfather from potentially getting poisoned by the elf when they began to tackle the Black family tapestry and purge the cabinets of all the remaining Dark potions and artifacts.

It had taken close to eight months for Sirius to lose that surly, bitter expression he wore when cooped up in the house, and it was replaced with the easy, casual smile Harry remembered from old photographs of him from before Azkaban.

It was almost a full year after the war before Sirius was exonerated, and presented with an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his part in the war.

Freedom, the recognition of his noble acts, and his narrow brush with death during Harry's fifth year had done wonders for the man. The more time that passed, the less he looked like the haggard Azkaban prisoner he'd once been, and it was as though he'd regressed in age by at least fifteen years.

 

And that was when the trouble started.

 

It was during Harry's sixth year that he discovered his leanings towards men as well as women, thanks in no small part to Dean Thomas's considerable _help_ in that area. Harry hadn't minded being Dean's covert rebound relationship after Ginny had dumped his housemate, and had no expectations that it would be any more than a few rushed snogs and handjobs.

Harry had never been particularly open about his sexuality, despite the fact that it was well-accepted within the wizarding world. Harry felt that his private life was in the limelight enough, and he'd much rather keep his sexuality to himself.

Unfortunately, living with a handsome older man when he had no partner to speak of had lent Harry's mind to some _very_ inappropriate dreams that had slowly increased in intensity as the weeks progressed, instead of dimming, or better yet—disappearing altogether.

 

In the lead-up to the second Christmas following the war, things were slowly returning to normal, and Harry had finally heard from Hermione. She informed him that she had finally found her parents, and she was working with the Australian Ministry for a way to safely return their memories to them. Unfortunately, it looked like she would not be home in time for Christmas, and Ron was mightily disappointed by the news. Harry did his best to console him, and if nothing else, Ron's bad news had been an adequate distraction from his own personal drama.

Though Harry had decided to wander into muggle London, he soon found himself standing outside The Leaky Cauldron, his feet taking him there on instinct while his head was in the clouds (or in the gutter, as it were). He stared up at the dingy pub's sign, debating for a long moment whether or not he should go in, but he was quickly distracted by a jovial cry that pulled him out of his morose thoughts.

“Harry!”

Harry spun on his heel at the sound of his name, and grunted as the familiar shape of Hermione Granger threw herself at him, her bushy hair entirely obscuring his vision as she hugged him tightly. Hermione pulled back after a moment, smiling brightly, her eyes a little shiny, and her skin was very brown from her adventures in Australia.

“Oh, it's so good to see you! I went by Grimmauld Place but Sirius told me you'd went out and I was hoping I'd find you before you hit the Alley, it's madness in there!” She said all of this very fast, and it took Harry's brain a couple moments to catch up with what she'd said after he got over the shock of seeing her for the first time in over two years.

“Did you just get back?” He asked weakly, and she nodded once, still smiling brightly.

“Yes, Mum and Dad aren't pleased with what I'd done, but I think they understand why I did it. I went to see Ron, of course...” she paused, flushing a brilliant shade of red when Harry smirked at her knowingly. “I would have thought you would be at the Burrow, you know...with Ginny?”

“Ah, well...” Harry took his turn to go red, “Ginny and I called it quits not long after you left.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” Hermione said, and the pair turned to head into the dingy pub. “How come?”

 _Because I'm lusting after an older man who also happens to be my godfather,_ Harry thought. The thought made him feel confusingly giddy and miserable all at once, and he shook his head once to clear his mind while he grasped at straws for a feasible answer.

“We, er, just wanted different things out of a relationship,” Harry said in a tone just barely above a mumble. Of everything that had happened after the war, his breakup with Ginny had been a definite high point. There was something oddly funny about a couple sitting down to talk, and _both_ parties admitting that they were gay. Ginny had been discreetly seeing Luna Lovegood for the last couple of months, though Harry was fairly certain that he was the only one that she'd told, and thus had kept the news of her budding relationship to himself.

“Yes, that's what Ron said, but he's still at sea what those 'different' things are,” she said suspiciously, while they took a table at the back of the pub. Harry frowned at her, annoyed with her interrogative questions, but was spared answering as he signalled at Tom, and he brought them over a pair of tankards of butterbeer. Harry accepted the drink gladly, and offered his thanks before he busied himself with it, while Hermione was still regarding him oddly.

“What happened while I was gone, Harry?” Hermione asked, her tone dropping from curious to concerned. “You seem...different.” Harry looked up, and the worried but curious look on her face told him that she likely wouldn't let it go until she got some sort of plausible answer, and Harry knew that if nothing else, Hermione was likely the one most likely to accept his sexual leanings. Not that he'd be inclined to tell her just _who_ was the object of his affections. He had a feeling that she would not be quite as open to _that_.

“I'm gay,” Harry said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “It wouldn't be fair to continue on with Ginny when she wasn't what I really wanted.”

“Oh.” Hermione looked at him curiously, as though she wanted to ask something else, but for the moment let it drop as they both returned to their drinks, and Harry prompted Hermione on her trip. As she spoke, Harry allowed his mind to wander, and it inevitably travelled back to Sirius. Harry took a long drink in an effort to hide his burning face.

 

Harry arrived home late that evening, feeling warm and much calmer than he had been that morning, thanks in large part to his catch-up with Hermione. As he stepped farther into the house, he caught a twinkling in his peripheral vision, and turned to see a tree set up, bedecked with colourful, sparkling lights and decorations.

A hand on his shoulder drew Harry from his daydreams, and looked up at Sirius with a faint smile. With the nice surprise of the decorations and gifts laid out, Harry was able to look at him without worry that he would turn bright red—provided his mind didn't wander.

“You did all this?” Harry asked, turning his gaze back to the twinkling tree. Sirius's hand slid across his shoulders and offered him a gentle half-hug before he let Harry go. Harry tried not to dwell on how nice it felt to be embraced by the older man, nor the warm imprint his arm seemed to leave on Harry's shoulders after he'd pulled away.

“'Tis the season, and all that,” Sirius replied with a smile, “it seemed like the thing to do.”

“It looks great,” Harry said, stepping forward to look more closely at the silver and gold decorations. his fingers ghosted over a silver rocking horse that spun weakly on its hook, then arched its neck and opened its mouth in a silent whinny as Harry retracted his hand.

“Now that the house is more or less habitable again, I thought it might be nice to get into the spirit of things,” Sirius said as he sat down on the sofa, leaning back against the cushions, with his right ankle resting atop his left knee. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, marvelling at the man's easy elegance, and how he could do something as simple as sit down, and make it look like an art form. He could feel Sirius staring at him, but he didn't have the nerve to turn around just yet, and instead focused his attention upon the other decorations on the tree.

“So,” Sirius prompted after a moment of silence, “are you gonna tell me what this morning is all about, or am I going to have to run through my list of guesses until I figure out what's bothering you?”

“It—it was nothing,” Harry said, turning back around to face him while he struggled to sound nonchalant, though he wasn't certain how well he managed it. “I just didn't sleep well, that's all.”

“Are you sure that that's all?” Sirius asked, arching a brow at him. “You couldn't even _look_ at me.”

 _You wouldn't be able to look at you either after that stupid dream,_ Harry thought, but bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from blurting out something that might give him away.

“Er—yeah,” Harry said, struggling to keep his tone neutral, “just...nightmares and—and stuff.”

Sirius eyed Harry for a long moment, as though he intended to question him further, but thankfully, he let it go, and with a soft huff of annoyance he stood up and stalked out of the room. Harry watched him go, and his gut twisted in on itself guiltily.

  

~*~

  

Thankfully, in the few days that remained before Christmas, Harry suffered no more deeply erotic dreams involving Sirius. He felt a little guilty about the fact that he had begun to miss them, but even with their absence, Harry struggled to keep his eyes off of Sirius when he was fairly certain that he wasn't looking.

It certainly didn't help matters that Sirius had opted out of wizard's robes of late, and instead had taken to donning muggle clothes—tight jeans, thin jumpers that clung to him like a second skin, and his old, weather-worn leather jacket. The switch in attire made it all the more difficult for Harry to keep his eyes to himself, and had taken to burying his nose in any book that would hold his attention for more than thirty seconds in a desperate attempt to keep his mind from wandering.

 

“Is there any chance that if I actually _ask_ you what's on your mind, you'd actually tell me?”

Sirius's voice came paired with a hand on Harry's knee, and he jumped, startled at the older man's sudden appearance. Harry grimaced at the question and shrugged, offering up a noncommittal grunt in answer.

“No,” Sirius said with a weak smile, “that would take all the fun out of guessing.” He removed his hand from Harry's leg and reached out to offer him one of his usual half-hugs. Harry desperately tried to ignore how his body responded so eagerly to the casual touch.

“Whatever it is Harry,” Sirius continued, “you _can_ talk to me. I'm not an ogre, and I won't bite your head off if you've done something...questionable.” Sirius chuckled, and Harry assumed he thought he'd done drugs—or whatever the wizarding world's equivalent to drugs _was,_ he couldn't recall ever hearing someone from a wizarding upbringing using that word—Harry almost wished that he had. He couldn't imagine any scenario (save perhaps his wildest dreams) where Sirius would react positively to his 'problem'.

Sirius released Harry's shoulders after one final squeeze, and walked off. Harry gave in to temptation, and his eyes dropped to the older man's arse, perfectly encased in dark denim, and he felt his face grow warm as a single, solitary thought crossed his mind.

 _I am_ so _going to hell_.

 

On Christmas Eve, both Harry and Sirius donned their best robes and Apparated to the Burrow. Harry welcomed the distraction an evening with the Weasleys would offer, as he'd agonized over little else than his growing crush over the last few days.

“Harry, Sirius,” Molly greeted warmly at the door, and they both offered her a smile as they stepped inside.

The moment they'd crossed the threshold, she cupped Harry's face in her hands and studied him critically. “Bit peaky, are you eating enough? I _do_ hope Sirius is feeding you prope—”

“Of course I am Molly,” Sirius cut in with an irritated huff. “It's not my fault that Harry has the appetite of a stack of hay.”

“Yes, well, why don't you go on and find Ron and Hermione, Harry?” Molly prompted, and Harry had the distinct impression that she wanted to reprimand his godfather in private. Harry wasn't keen on stepping into her line of fire, and so nodded meekly before he hurried off.

Harry made a point of thundering up the crooked staircase so that Ron and Hermione knew someone was coming, but it was Ginny who poked her head out first to see what the racket was.

“Harry!” She cried, and hurried out to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. “It's so good to see you!”

“You too,” Harry replied with a smile, “How's...?” Harry trailed off, and twitched his head in the general direction of Luna's house. Ginny smiled.

“A lady never kisses and tells,” she replied with a wink, and Harry laughed. “What about you? Any prospects?”

“Not really,” he said with a feeble shrug. “Bit difficult to determine whether someone wants to date me for me, or because I'm Harry Potter, you know?” It was true enough, though his fixation on his godfather had captured so much of his focus that even if someone _had_ been showing an interest in him, it was very unlikely that he'd actually notice.

“That's true,” she said with a smile, and took his hand. “Come on, Hermione's already here so _don't_ go into Ron's room without knocking, or you may very well end up scarred for life.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Harry asked, and her red face and groan was answer enough. Laughing heartily, he went with her up to Ron's room, and knocked loudly on the door.

“What?” Ron's voice sounded from the other side of the door. He sounded mildly irritated.

“Polar Express!” Harry called, and the words were met with a great amount of scuffling, and when Ron finally opened the door, his and Hermione's clothes were distinctly rumpled, their faces flushed, and Hermione's hair looked slightly frizzier than usual.

“We interrupting?” Ginny asked sweetly, and Harry snorted when Ron went as red as his hair. Snickering at his best mate's reaction, Harry and Ginny sidled into the room, and Ginny sat on Ron's desk chair, while Harry perched himself on the bed.

“So have you two come up for air at all today, or is this one of those rare moments when you're not glued together at the lips?” Harry asked, lifting an arm to protect himself when both Ron and Hermione reached over to cuff him.

“At least we're getting some,” Ron shot back, apparently caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

That comment shut Harry right up, and his mind unfortunately and inevitably strayed back to his godfather, but he quickly shook his head to rid himself of the insane fantasy. It was _never_ going to happen, no matter how much he wished that it would. _I need to stop thinking about him,_ Harry thought firmly, _pining like this isn't going to help._

 

The house grew noisier as they day wore on, and eventually the quartet wandered down to the main level to greet Bill and Fleur, the latter sporting a little pink bundle in her arms, and they all took part in a number of rounds of Pass The Baby as everyone fawned and cooed over little Victoire. George had also come round, along with Charlie, Percy, and at last Andromeda with little Teddy, and Harry was happy to distract himself from his morose thoughts by way of his godson, which made him feel, if possible, even more strange about his current romantic interest.

“He's getting so big,” Harry remarked, setting the toddler on his knee and laughed as Teddy made a mad grab for his glasses, and whined when he couldn't reach them. Caving to the watery gaze, Harry cast a quick unbreakable charm on his glasses before handing them over, which was lucky as Harry watched Teddy promptly throw them to the ground.

“You would too if you just eat, sleep, and poop all day,” Andromeda replied, and bent over to fetch Harry's glasses off the floor. He accepted them from her with a smile and gave them back to Teddy, who giggled and flailed them in his hand.

Eventually Molly was able to coax Teddy into losing interest in Harry's glasses by offering him an old plush bear, and Harry enjoyed the ability to see clearly again as he divided his attention between his godson on his knee and Andromeda, determined to keep his focus anywhere but on Sirius.

As early evening set in, Molly set up the dinner table much like a buffet, enabling guests to serve themselves and eat wherever they'd like. With a plate filled with sausage puffs, cabbage rolls, honeyed ham, and roasted vegetables, Harry settled down on the settee with Ron and Hermione, and Harry grasped at any topic that would fall into the realm of _safe_ and well away from anything that might segue into discussions of their personal lives.

Despite Harry's best efforts, his eyes routinely strayed over to Sirius, who was sitting with Andromeda and playing with Teddy, a sort of sad smile on his face as he held the child in his lap. Harry was certain he was probably thinking of Remus, and Harry's gaze shifted back to his friends, and he felt a pull at his heart. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine how lonely it must be for him, the people he cared about most in the world all gone, and left all alone like that.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Hermione asked, shaking Harry out of his gaze.

“I—yeah, fine. Just thinking.”

“You seem to be doing that a lot lately,” she observed, and cocked an eyebrow at him, though he answered her look with a vague shrug.

“It's been known to happen,” he replied, and she snickered while she reached out to swat his arm.

“You know what I mean Harry,” Hermione said, “you've been...I dunno...like something's been on your mind.”

“It's nothing really,” Harry replied, forcing his gaze away from the object of his affections. “Just...I dunno, thinking.

“Well, when you decide to let us in on it, you know we love you no matter what, right?” Harry forced a small smile in response to her words.

Somehow, he doubted that.

 

The savoury foods were replaced with over a dozen different kinds of sweets, though Harry was more than content to just nurse a cup of tea, while he and Hermione watched Ron eat his body weight in gingerbread men.

Harry excused himself after Ron had begun to turn a little green, which George proclaimed was festive, but Harry wasn't as keen to see the gingerbread for a second time, and hurried upstairs to the loo.

As he walked however, Harry was certain that he'd heard the murmur of his name coming from the kitchen, and he paused with his foot resting on the first step of the stairs to listen.

“...Harry's never been like this, I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but he won't talk to me.” Harry froze at the sound of Sirius's voice, and against his better judgment he sat down on the stairs to listen.

“Welcome to parenthood, Sirius,” Arthur said, a laugh in his tone. “Harry had to grow up quickly, and for the first time in his life he gets to be _just_ Harry. I'm sure it's just your typical teenage angst, Lord knows we had to sweat blood to get our kids to tell us _anything_. Is there anything in particular that is worrying you?”

“It's just that...we used to talk about everything. He'd come to me with any issue he had, but now...Arthur, he can't even look me in the eye, and half the time it seems like there's something he wants to say...and he just can't say it.”

“Do you think he might be gay? He broke it off with Ginny rather suddenly, and both of them have been rather closed-mouthed about what prompted the split...”

“I dunno, it's likely. I mean, I've never seen him check out a bird in my life. But A fit bloke wanders by and he can't look away. I mean, if that was all it was, I would have liked to think that he'd feel comfortable coming to me about it—it's not like I've ever been that secretive about my own...preferences.”

Harry stood and hurried upstairs.

He could have listened to more, but the sudden surge of joy that filled him at Sirius's admission was both thrilling and troubling all at once. Harry picked up his pace once he was was certain that he was out of earshot, and bolted the door behind him before he sat heavily upon the closed lid of the toilet seat.

Harry bowed forward and buried his face in his hands. The momentary thrill that Sirius at least shared his interest in men was gone, and replaced with a fresh wave of guilt for even entertaining the idea at all.

 _Sirius is your godfather,_ Harry told himself firmly, _it's not okay for you to be acting like this. You_ need _to get over it. Even if he wasn't, why would he ever want a kid like you?_

That train of thought made Harry feel even worse.

  

~*~

  

Harry flew out of Grimmauld Place's fireplace and choked on a mouthful of ash. A strong hand on his shoulder helped him to his feet as he coughed and hacked.

“Thanks,” Harry rasped, and flicked his wand at his robes to dispel the ash.

“Anytime,” Sirius said, and Harry glanced up to smile weakly at the older man. Even now, the gentle smile directed at him made Harry feel almost uncomfortably warm, and he had to look away to snap himself out of it. “What do you say to a nightcap before bed?”

Something in Sirius's tone told Harry that it was less of a request and more of a demand. He nodded his head a little, painfully aware of the hand that still rested on his shoulder.

“Er, yeah, all right.”

“Great,” Sirius said, and promptly steered Harry to the sofa. He plopped down heavily, his stomach in knots as he gazed up at his godfather uncertainly.

Sirius drew his wand a flicked it, summoning a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses. He poured a measure for each of them, and pressed one into Harry's hand.

Harry focused on the drink, taking a small sip and enjoyed the warming sensation of it running into his stomach, and braced himself as he heard Sirius clear his throat as he prepared to speak. Harry strove to focus on his face, and not the attractive way his robes clung to him as he moved.

“Now Harry,” Sirius began, levelling his gaze with him, his eyes hard and filled with concern— _Parental_ concern, Harry reminded himself. “You've been acting very strange these last few weeks, and I want to know what's going on. You _know_ you can tell me anything, I'm not likely to jump down your throat for it—” _wanna bet?_ Harry thought pessimistically, “—So can you please just knock it off with the misery train and tell me what the hell is going on? I want to help you, Harry.”

Harry looked from Sirius to the glass he held. Did he dare take a shot in the dark, and hope that by some wild fluke Sirius not only shared his affections, but approved of them?

He looked back up at Sirius. The worry he saw there broke his nerve, and he shook his head weakly.

“It's nothing,” he mumbled, and took another sip of the whisky.

“Bullshit,” Sirius snapped, and Harry's gaze jerked back up in alarm. “Harry, you've been miserable. You won't even _look_ at me. Is it because you're gay? Because trust me, that's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I—I know that that Sirius, I just...There's a lot on my mind, all right? I'm not—I mean, I am but—I'm...I'm okay, really,” Harry finished his halting explanation with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then drained the rest of his drink. “I think I'll go to bed, see you in the morning?”

Harry was out of the room and up the stairs before Sirius had a chance to answer.

 

Harry took his time preparing for bed; brushing his teeth, changing into a pair of pyjama bottoms and T-shirt, and he shut the door to his bedroom firmly behind him. Even after spending so much time preparing for bed, it did little to steer his mind from the fantasy land it seemed to be living in lately.

Harry stood for a long moment with his back resting against the door, listening intently for Sirius, and when all he heard was dead air, Harry padded over to his bed, crouched down, and pulled his old photo album from underneath it.

Harry flipped to the back, ignoring the pictures of his family and friends, until he came upon a small folder affixed to the back of the book. Warmth pooling in his belly, Harry opened the catch and pulled out a single photograph—of Sirius.

It was a recent picture, one Harry had snapped on a whim, which depicted Sirius napping in a sitting position upon the sofa. His chest rose and fell gently, his neck arched as his head tilted back to rest against the cushions and expose a column of olive skin that disappeared into the steep neckline of the shirt he wore. Harry shivered at the sight; he often wondered what it would be like to trace that throat with his tongue.

Harry stuffed away the album and crawled onto his bed. He paused for a moment and looked around the room. He was certain that there was something he'd forgotten, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Shrugging it off, he reached over to the bedside table where a small hand lotion dispenser was perched. Harry squeezed a small measure of the substance onto his hand, and he yanked down the front of his pyjama bottoms to grab hold of his half-hard cock.

His breathing already shallow, Harry slowly stroked himself to hardness, hooded eyes staring at the photograph, and caught his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle his feeble grunts of pleasure. His imagination ran wild, and his skin felt as though it was on fire.

 

_Sirius boxing Harry in with his strong limbs, and his long locks tickled Harry's bare flesh as he kissed him, trailed his lips along the side of his throat, and moved slowly down to Harry's chest._

_Sirius's strong hand coiled around Harry's cock in place of his own, the rough, callused palm throwing Harry into a fit of pleasure._

_Sirius coaxed Harry onto his stomach, and burrowed his lotion-slicked fingers deep into his arse._

“ _Sirius_...” Harry gasped softly, his hand tensing around his cock as his hips arched.

 

_Bang._

 

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he jerked upright in bed.

He'd forgotten the silencing charm.

Sirius stood in his doorway, eyes wide as he took in the sight before him, while Harry hastily began to stuff himself away.

“I'm sorry Harry, I thought I heard...” Sirius began, but trailed off as his gaze fixed upon the photograph clutched in Harry's hand, and he watched all the colour drain from his godfather's face.

Harry froze. A wave of panicked nausea washed over him as he stared back at Sirius, and something in him seemed to break as he came back to his senses, and Sirius bolted from the room while he slammed the door behind him.

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..._ ” Harry hissed as he hurried out of the door after him. “Sirius, wait!”

Harry chased Sirius to his own bedroom door, and skidded to a halt when Sirius whirled around, looking furious.

“No,” he growled, and Harry took a nervous step back, alarmed at the ferocity behind the single word; he'd never seen Sirius look so angry before. “Whatever you have to say, just, no, Harry. It's not right. When I thought there was something wrong I...not this. I never expected _this_. Go to your room.”

Sirius stormed into the room and slammed the door, leaving Harry standing in the hall.

  

~*~

  

The bells of the nearby Catholic church woke Harry the following morning.

The saline residue of tear tracks clung to his cheeks, and he felt groggy, as though he hadn't slept at all. Harry didn't move, but stared miserably at the ceiling as he went over the unfortunate turn of events from the previous night.

 _I never wanted Sirius to know, but if I had...I wouldn't have wanted him to find out like_ that. Harry thought, and sniffed sharply as he felt his throat constrict. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, and struggled to calm down.

Harry sat up slowly and raked a hand through his hair. Among other things, he had no idea how he was supposed to face Sirius. After last night, he'd made his opinion on the matter quite clear, and though the negative reaction wasn't unexpected, it still stung.

 _I didn't ask for this,_ Harry thought, his misery shifting to anger, _I didn't ask for any of this, you git. I didn't ask to fall for you._ Harry's eyes stung again, and he hissed a curse.

The soft shuffling of footsteps from down the hall dragged Harry from his thoughts, and he stiffened as he listened to their approach.

The footsteps stopped outside Harry's door, and his fingers curled around the edge of his blanket. Sirius seemed to lose his nerve however, and a moment later they picked up again and descended the stairs.

Harry lay back down in bed and closed his eyes, and the gentle tolling of the Christmas Day church bells slowly lulled him back to sleep.

 

It felt as though he'd only just dozed off when a soft tapping on his door woke him up again. At first, Harry thought that he might have imagined it and was ready to go back to sleep, but then the tapping shifted into a more insistent knocking.

“Harry,” Sirius's muffled voice came from the other side of the door, “I know you're awake. We need to talk about this.”

“What for?” Harry called back, not bothering to keep the hurt from his voice. “Last night you made your feelings on the matter _perfectly_ clear.”

Sirius ignored Harry's words, and opened the door. Harry crossed his arms and glared down at his lap. Sirius looked awful. It appeared as though he hadn't slept; he was pale, his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and his hair messy and unkempt. The sight of him filled Harry with half a dozen different emotions, chief among them a dizzying anguish, longing, and anger. He didn't know whether he wanted to run at the man, run from him, or hit him.

Sirius stepped forward, his footfalls light and tentative, as though Harry was a bomb that would go off at any moment. He sat down at the end of the bed, the light dip of his weight reminding Harry of his fantasies from the night before. He shook his head once to banish them from his mind. Sirius didn't want him like that, it would do nothing but make him more miserable to think on them.

“I'm sorry for how I reacted last night Harry,” Sirius said gently, and moved as if to grip his shoulder like he always did, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment, and retracted his hand. “I was shocked, I'm sure you can understand why. But Harry, it's not that I am disgusted by you or you're not—I mean,” Sirius paused, and heaved a sigh. “You're my _godson_ , it wouldn't be right.” Sirius stood up and watched Harry intently, but he didn't offer up any sort of response to Sirius's words. Too afraid that he might say something that would make the situation worse, he kept his mouth firmly shut and his eyes down.

“Come down to eat when you're ready,” Sirius said after an awkward pause, “we're going to the Burrow for dinner, but let me know if you want me to make up some fake illness for you if you'd rather not go.”

Only after Sirius stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him did Harry bury his face in his hands to muffle a dry sob.

 

It took Harry a long time to get out of bed, and even longer to gather up the nerve to wander downstairs. He took his time showering and dressing, but even after spending over an hour in the loo, he felt no more ready to face his godfather, not after what had happened the night before. His thoughts frequented between he _doesn't want me, I might as well start looking for a flat of my own,_ and _maybe there's still a chance that he'll come round_. The latter thought Harry knew was wishful thinking and not much more. What would an older man like Sirius want with a gawky twenty-year-old like him anyway?

Despite his morose thoughts, Harry was careful with the clothing he chose to wear for the day ahead; garments that would not make his intentions incredibly obvious, but clung to him just enough that maybe, if Harry was incredibly lucky, might sway Sirius's convictions. Harry didn't have much hope of this of course, but it didn't hurt to try.

Harry descended to the main level to see that the gifts under the tree were completely untouched, but Harry wasn't feeling particularly festive at the moment, and turned his back on them in favour of wandering into the kitchen in search of some food. He didn't feel very hungry, but Harry didn't like the idea of both Sirius _and_ Mrs Weasley getting on his case about his lack of appetite.

In an effort to force some Christmas Spirit onto himself, he plucked a cranberry-orange muffin from the basket on the kitchen table, and made his coffee Irish. He headed to the dining room and sat at the scrubbed wooden table, nursing his coffee and picking at the muffin, but not really eating it. He could hear Sirius nearby puttering about, and Harry had a feeling that he wanted to talk to Harry, but didn't seem to have the nerve to actually do so. Harry listened sadly to the sound of Sirius organizing the kitchen spices and alphabetizing their shared bookshelves, and began to feel as though Grimmauld Place had regressed back to the same atmosphere it had had during Harry's fifth year.

 

They eventually opened their gifts, though it was just as awkward and silent as the rest of the day had been. Neither Harry nor Sirius wanted the Weasleys to worry, and if they did not partake in the simplest of Christmas rituals, it might lead to awkward questions that Harry wasn't keen to answer. He tugged this year's Weasley jumper over his T-shirt, and left everything else under the tree as the pair made ready to head to the Burrow.

 

It was the most miserable Christmas Harry had had in years, and that was saying a lot, considering how he'd grown up.

Plastering on a fake smile, he greeted everyone in turn, offering hugs to the women and shaking hands with the men, and only Hermione gave him an odd look as he greeted them. This didn't surprise Harry in the slightest, but he did his best to maintain the casual smile throughout the evening while he swapped chocolate frog cards with Ron, played with Teddy, and covertly chatted with Ginny about her budding romance with Luna.

Harry excused himself to the loo for a breather from all the excitement, and when he stepped back out, he found Hermione blocking his way back downstairs. He bit back a curse as she stared him down, but he'd be damned if he was going to pour his heart out to her just because she was _glaring_ at him.

“What?” He asked at last, and her frowned deepened.

“You know what,” she said, and nudged him back into the lavatory and shut the door behind her. “Out with it Harry. You've been miserable all evening, and Sirius won't even look at you. I _know_ something happened.”

“It's sort of private,” Harry muttered, not looking at her.

“I spent close to a year sharing a tent with you and Ron,” she said, as though that was enough to end any argument he could have made. “I've seen you naked. There's nothing _private_ left between us.”

Harry eyed her curiously; Hermione had always been pushy, but this seemed different somehow. Normally, she'd show at least a little more tact than being deliberately antagonistic. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he could simply shoulder past her, but he didn't like his odds (or the _just you try it_ look she was giving him) and decided to tell her an adapted version of what happened—he didn't fancy listening to lectures on his fucked up moral code for the remainder of the evening.

“I was, um, oh, fuck it, I was wanking, all right? And Sirius walked in on me,” Harry said in a rush, and bit his cheek to keep himself from smiling at Hermione when she went bright red. “Private enough for you?”

“You don't need to be crude,” she replied, hurt, “are you sure that's it? It's just...” Hermione trailed off as Harry arched an eyebrow at her, and her inquisitiveness seemed to peter out. “I'm getting the impression that I probably don't want to know.”

“Good choice,” he replied, and she smiled at him.

 

Harry made it through dinner and pudding, but bowed out early when Molly began her annual concert of Celestina Warbeck. Molly seemed terribly distressed at his leaving, but it didn't take much to convince her that he was exhausted—he looked the part to begin with. Harry could feel Sirius watching him over his third glass of firewhisky, and he feigned ignorance to the stare as he said his goodbyes, grabbed his jacket, and headed outside to Apparate home.

As he appeared upon Grimmauld Place's top step, he looked up to see a light snow beginning to fall. The sight of it made him smile in spite of his heavy heart, and he slipped inside the warmth of home.

After the miserable day he'd had, Harry was determined to find some sort of peace before Sirius staggered home (if his drinking habits over the course of the evening were any indication of the state he'd be in by that point) and the cycle of heartbreak and misery started up again. Harry shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his trainers before he made his way to the kitchen to make himself a tea. He transported the drink with him to the sitting room, and settled himself down on the floor, flicking his wand once to build up the fire, with his back resting against one leg of the coffee table.

With the crackling fire, the warm tea cradled in his hands, and the fluffy snowflakes fluttering past the window it felt very festive and peaceful. It amazed Harry how easy it was to just push back the bad memories of the night before and the following morning, and forget that any of it had ever happened.

Harry settled in, and forced himself to think of nothing involving Sirius Black.

 

It was another two hours before he heard the flare of the Floo come from the kitchen, and Harry abandoned his empty mug on the coffee table to see what sort of state Sirius was in.

“Harry,” Sirius breathed the moment he saw him, and took a measured step forward, his hands falling heavily onto his shoulders. Harry's breath caught at the contact, and his surprise had momentarily rendered him speechless as he stared wide-eyed at his godfather. “'M sorry,” he mumbled, “been thinking. With firewhisky. Thinking about you, but with firewhisky.”

Even if Harry hadn't seen him drinking before he'd left, that much was painfully obvious. Sirius reeked of the stuff. Harry tried to take a minor step back, but Sirius's hold on him prevented him from going very far.

“Er, I see...” Harry said, and his eyes widened slightly as Sirius's focus on him became more intense.

“You can't want me,” he mumbled in the same tone as though Harry hadn't spoken, “I'm your godfather. James would kill me. I'm no good for you, Harry. I'm your godfather,” Sirius said, his speech slurred ever so slightly, though he still spoke vehemently, and Harry wasn't certain whether Sirius was trying to convince Harry or himself that they couldn't be together.

“I—I'm sorry Sirius,” Harry said, remembering all-too clearly how easily Uncle Vernon could be set off after he'd had a few. Harry had no idea what might spark Sirius, and did his best to tread cautiously. “I didn't mean for it to happen—I...I can't help how I feel.”

“You don't want me. You _can't_ want me. I'm your _godfather._ James would kill me,” he repeated, and drew Harry closer to him, while Harry's heart thundered in his chest at the contact. “I'm broken, Harry. Sad old man. It's not right. I'm your godfather.”

Sirius dissolved into nonsensical mumbling, repeating the same phrases to Harry over and over. His hands dropped from Harry's shoulders to his waist, and he gasped when Sirius drew him into a tight hug.

“You can't want me,” he whispered for the dozenth time in a span of less than ten minutes. Harry's nervous hope reared its head, and he tentatively held on to Sirius, enjoying the closeness while he could, and quietly braced himself for the painful rejection he was likely to receive once Sirius sobered up.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said softly, “I never meant for you to find out that way. I just—”

“—What do you want from me, Harry?” Sirius rasped, his voice jumping up in volume and the intense tone he spoke with was so close to anger that it startled Harry, and he tried to step back from the older man. “Is _this_ what you want?” Harry gasped as Sirius reached down and grasped his arse in his hands. It was not a gentle sensation, and his fingertips dug hard into Harry's flesh. There was a dangerous edge to the action that did not sit well with him, and Harry quickly wrenched himself out of Sirius's hold and backed into the kitchen counter, his eyes bulging with shock. It took a few moments for what Sirius had done to him sink in, and Sirius's expression shifted once more from anger to anguish.

“Oh, God, Harry...I'm so sorry,” Sirius sounded so sad, so lost. Harry's heart ached for him. He wished he knew how to offer him some kind of comfort, but at the risk of setting him off again, Harry stayed silent and still while he waited for the older man to speak.

“I'm such a mess, I only just got you back in my life and I already cocked it all up,” Sirius said, and stepped forward again to envelop Harry in another embrace. Harry stayed stock still, holding his breath, and an involuntary gasp escaped him when Sirius took a small step back, and lifted a hand to cradle his chin, forcing Harry to lock eyes with him. “I'm no good, Harry, no good. James would kill me. I'm your godfather...” The repeated words were becoming exhausting to hear, and when Harry parted his lips to suggest maybe Sirius go sleep the whisky off, the most unlikely thing imaginable happened. So unlikely in fact, that it took Harry several seconds to convince himself that he wasn't having a wildly vivid dream.

Sirius kissed him.

It was not a tentative peck, or a gentle brush of lips. This was the kind of kiss Harry had only fantasized about, and it left him feeling as though he might melt into a puddle on the floor. Sirius's stubble scratched Harry's cheek pleasantly, his lips were parted and his tongue immediately extended to taste Harry. Harry responded immediately, certain that as soon as Sirius came to his senses, he would lose him. After the miserable Christmas he'd had, Harry would take whatever he could get.

The hand slid to rest at the back of Harry's neck, while the other braced against the counter, pinning Harry against it. A feeble moan escaped him as he reached up to tangle his fingers in Sirius's sleek hair, marvelling at the dual sensation of the soft locks threading through his fingers, and the hot, hard body pressed into him.

The spell broke sooner than Harry would have liked, and at Harry's soft vocalization Sirius stumbled away from him as though he had suddenly grown claws or fangs. Sirius's eyes were wide, his face was flushed, and Harry did not miss the distinctive bulge in the front of the man's trousers. Sirius said nothing, but staggered out of the kitchen, his face riddled with guilt.

Harry braced himself against the counter, panting softly. It was several long minutes before he felt like his legs would support him, and Harry headed up to bed. While he felt a little guilty at taking advantage of Sirius like that, he couldn't help but feel a swell of joy in his chest. It was far better than he ever could have thought possible, and it was more than enough to plaster a smile upon his face as he readied himself for bed. Harry sincerely hoped that come morning Sirius would abandon his morals completely and kiss him again, but as he shrugged out of his clothes, donned his pyjamas, and climbed into bed, reality began to sink in again, and he seriously doubted that he'd ever be that lucky.

 

~*~

 

 The following morning, Harry woke with a smile on his face.

His dreams had been filled with a loop of pleasant images as he enjoyed the kiss over and over again. Harry stretched out languidly with a contented sigh, and lay sprawled in bed while he forced himself to not think about what was likely to happen the moment he stepped outside to face Sirius. He suspected his fragile fantasy and enjoyment of last night would come crashing down around him, and thus Harry was determined to savour it for as long as possible.

After enjoying a morning wank (remembering to cast a silencing charm this time) Harry pulled on his dressing gown, and wandered down to the main level in search of some breakfast.

Sirius was sitting at the kitchen table, looking a little worse for wear as he stared morosely into his coffee cup. His head snapped up when Harry stepped into the space, and Harry felt his good mood die as Sirius stared at him with an expression of agonizing guilt upon his face. Harry froze, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared back at his godfather, and waited for him to speak.

“Harry, I—I'm sorry for last night,” Sirius said roughly, his gaze dropping back down to the mug in his hands.

“I'm not,” Harry replied, pleased that he managed to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“It's—it's not right, what I did,” he said weakly, though like last night, Harry couldn't tell if Sirius was trying to convince Harry or himself of that. “I'm your godfather. I was taking advantage of you,” Sirius said into his cup, incapable of looking Harry in the eye.

“You knew I wanted it, Sirius. On some level, you must have, or you never would have done what you did,” Harry said, but instantly regretted his words as Sirius blanched at the implication.

“I—no. Just...no, Harry,” Sirius said roughly as he stood up. “I can't. _We_ can't.”

With that, he stormed from the room, and Harry mentally kicked himself for even daring to trust a hope.

 

 Harry spent Boxing Day in a miserable slump. He showered in an effort to clear his mind, but did not bother getting dressed, and instead pulled his pyjamas back on. He grazed on tidbits of the festive food Sirius had bought in the lead-up to Christmas, but somehow individual Christmas puddings, candy cane biscuits, and chocolate bonbons did not taste nearly as good when the inside of the house was so gloomy.

He went to bed early that night, and in an effort to cheer himself up, he cast aside his recent attempts at purging Sirius from his mind as he stripped and laid down on the top of his made bed. Harry drew off his glasses and set them aside, and grabbed his bottle of lotion.

Harry shut his eyes and allowed his imagination to return to the previous evening, and he began to imagine what may have happened if things had gone a little better.

 

_Harry was pinned against the kitchen counter, Sirius's mouth on his, and his hands dove underneath Harry's jumper and trailed up his chest._

 

Harry squeezed a small dot of lotion onto his palm and spread it out with his thumb, then coiled his hand around his already flagging cock.

 

_Sirius's stubble scraped against Harry's jaw as his mouth moved lower, and he paused just long enough to rid Harry of his top layers._

 

Harry's breath hitched, and he squeezed the base of his cock, stroking the organ with slow, trembling movements as he tried to draw out the wank for as long as he could.

 

_Sirius's mouth trailed wet kisses down Harry's front, his large, callused palms tickling the sensitive skin of his abdomen as he flicked open the top button of his jeans._

 

Harry caught his bottom lip in his teeth in an effort to stifle a soft grunt.

 

_Sirius pulled down the zip painfully slowly, and shucked Harry out of the garment. His large hands moved to cup Harry's buttocks through his pants, while his mouth mapped the outline of his erection through the thin garment._

 

Harry whimpered softly, and reached his free hand for the lotion, and smeared a little onto his index and middle finger of his free hand. He shifted, one hand still moving quickly over his weeping cock, and the two lotion-slicked fingers circled around his puckered hole.

 

_Sirius turned Harry around, and used his wand to hasten his preparation. Harry arched his back and moaned his desperate need. Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders pressed his open palm to the top of Harry's sternum, forcing him to lean back, his spine curving to the shape of Sirius's chest as he leant his head back and rested it against the older man's shoulder._

 

A choked gasp escaped Harry as his fingers breached the ring of muscle, and he arched his back as his breath continued to escape him in soft, shuddering gasps. Harry added a third finger, and despite the awkward position, he did his best to move both his hands in sync.

“ _Oh God..._ ” Harry hissed as softly as he dared, but his mind-blowing wank was interrupted as Sirius once more barged in at the most inopportune moment.

“Harry, I just wanted to—” Sirius began, but broke off when it registered what he was seeing, and his eyes went wide.

Harry stared back at Sirius, not saying a word, and continued to stroke himself, his breathing haggard as he stared his godfather down. His mind fogged over with his arousal, he decided to test his theory that Sirius was not as disgusted by the thought of them together as he had apparently tried to lead Harry to believe, and instead of stopping his actions to cover himself up or explain himself, he continued as though he'd never been interrupted.

There was something deeply arousing about the older man watching him wank, and as he withdrew his fingers from his arse, Harry did not miss the way Sirius watched his every move with a hungry intensity.

 

Sirius took a trembling step forward, the internal conflict raging in his grey eyes. Harry stared resolutely back, the hand on his cock continuing to move, making his desires for the older man quite clear.

Sirius mumbled something, Harry didn't catch it all, but he was certain that he'd heard his father's name. Harry guessed that Sirius was likely thinking about what his father might think of this turn of events, but Harry was too far gone to care very much about what the late James Potter might think.

Harry nearly wept with joy as the last of Sirius's reservations finally crumbled, and his mouth descended on Harry's.

The kiss was the same as it had been the night before; rough, fuelled by desire and not tenderness, and instantly took Harry's breath away. Harry trembled as Sirius's large, rough hands explored his chest and abdomen, while Harry's shaking hands fumbled with the buttons on the older man's robes.

“Let me,” Sirius breathed against Harry's mouth, and Harry almost wept at the sound of it. He closed a hand over Harry's and guided it to one button after another, then shrugged quickly out of the garment.

“God, Sirius,” Harry murmured, afraid that speaking at a normal volume might somehow scare him off as Harry's fingertips brushed across the tattooed and scarred flesh, “you're so fucking beautiful.”

Sirius answered by kissing him again, and his hands dropped to Harry's arse, giving it a gentle squeeze, leaps and bounds more tenderly than he had the night before. Harry moaned softly, parting his legs and exposing himself further to the older man.

“You can romance me next time,” Harry murmured as he picked up the bottle of lotion from his bedside table, and leant in to kiss him again, “right now, I _need_ you.”

“Harry,” Sirius replied just as softly, his tone very close to anguish, though it did not stop him from accepting the lotion from Harry to slick his cock, “this is so wrong...”

“I don't care,” Harry said at once, never raising his voice above a murmur. “I just...I don't care. I want you, I _need_ you, I...I love you.”

The final sentiment seemed to break Sirius, and he kissed Harry tenderly while he lined himself up with the younger man's entrance.

Harry broke the kiss and arched his back as Sirius slid into him, the sensation more delicious and thrilling than he ever could have imagined it to be. Harry locked his legs around Sirius's waist, and grunted as Sirius withdrew and thrust back in, slowly at first, hesitantly, and ever so slowly he picked up his pace. Harry discarded any attempt at maintaining his dignity, and vocalized his pleasure as he found a rhythm with Sirius, meeting his thrusts and bearing down on him, eliciting a string of appreciative groans from the older man.

“ _Harry..._ ” Sirius whimpered, and Harry reached up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and draw him into a messy kiss. He grunted into Harry's mouth, and used one hand to keep himself balanced, whilst the other moved to Harry's weeping cock, and curled around it. The tickle of the rough skin against Harry's cock made him tremble, and he arched his hips invitingly into the contact.

Sirius grunted as he came, and his hot seed filled Harry, while he stroked Harry's cock roughly, bringing him to orgasm a moment later, effectively painting Harry's belly with his seed.

Sirius eased down onto the bed, panting harshly as he pulled Harry flush against his chest, this time without a moment's hesitation.

“You were amazing Harry,” Sirius whispered, and brushed a light kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth. He withdrew his softening cock from Harry's arse, flicked his wand to clean them both up. As soon as he felt the cleaning charm do its job, Harry rolled over and curled into Sirius's arms.

“So were you,” Harry replied, his eyes fluttering shut as Sirius moved a hand to stroke his damp hair.

“The others won't accept this, they won't understand it,” he said softly, and Harry was surprised by how little the statement bothered him.

“I don't care,” he said at once, “all I want is you, Sirius.”

Sirius rested a knuckle under Harry's chin, and tilted his head up so that their lips could meet in a light kiss. Harry couldn't tell if the dampness on the older man's cheeks were tears or sweat. He didn't say any word, but he didn't need to, not this time. His actions spoke louder than his words ever could, and as Harry lay there basking in the afterglow of the best sex he'd ever had, he knew without the shadow of a doubt that this was not an ending, but the start of something wonderful.

 

-Fin


End file.
